Image: Ivje, Godvisna (own work)

So, the days are getting colder and the chill is starting to set in. Need to warm up quickly? I have just the thing …

Frostbite is an erotic short story I penned a few weeks ago following a fabulous (sedate!) walk in the English countryside: A woman, walking by herself on a desolate, frosty footpath, is taken by surprise when a man steps from the trees in front of her. They’re alone, it’s bitterly cold, and night is falling. It sounds like the beginning of a nightmare – but is it?

I really enjoyed writing Frostbite and it seems now’s the time to post it, given that winter’s bearing down on us with a vengeance.

If I get the time – and provided they’re popular enough – I’ll try and write more of these ‘five minute’ shorts going forwards.

IMPORTANT: Please note that this story is a work of fiction and contains explicit sexual content and elements of dubious consent. If such material offends you or you are under the age of 18, please don’t read any further.

 

FROSTBITE

In the fading winter light it’s impossible to see him standing beneath the trees. It isn’t until he steps from the froth of dried bracken at the side of the footpath, coming to a stop mere feet in front of me, that I realise he is there. The shot of adrenalin that courses through me as I freeze, mid-step, feels more like a bolt of electricity and the hairs on the back of my neck come to attention as if court-marshalled.

I stare at him, my mouth slightly parted, a breath away from a scream.

He looks back at me – and I can’t help but think it’s in much the same way that a lion contemplates a foolish, stray gazelle.

With an effort, I break his gaze and look frantically behind me. There is no one but us on this lonely track; the frozen path I have just walked, a mess of frosty grass and cold mud, stretches empty across a desolate field before disappearing into a tall stand of distant oaks.

We are quite alone.

And as I turn my head back towards him, he pounces. Moves so quickly I don’t have time to process it. One leather-clad hand is like a vice around my arm, the other a dead weight against my shoulder, pushing me to my knees on the hard ground. I hear the frosted grass crackle as my legs make contact and feel the almost immediate seep of cold through the wool of my tights. The hand on my arm shifts to my head, pulls off my wool hat and grasps my hair. I arch my neck backwards, trying to relieve the strain but he simply pulls harder and I start to lose my balance. Involuntarily, my hands come up and I grip his denim-encased thighs in an effort to steady myself.

In the dim grey light, I can see the corners of his mouth curve upwards in a hard smile.

The way he is gripping my hair, I can’t look down but I hear the metallic clink of metal and suddenly realise that the hand that’s no longer on my shoulder must be undoing his belt. My thoughts are confirmed when my ears pick up the distinctive sound of a zip being undone in the almost-silent evening. Instinctively, I start to struggle but he merely tightens his fingers until the roots of my dark hair scream for relief. The pain is unwelcome and, almost immediately, I quiet, seeking escape from the punishment.

His grip loosens fractionally but my moment of leniency is short-lived. He steps closer to me and I feel the head of his penis, hot and hard, brush across my cheek and press against my dry lips. A finger taps my jaw in warning and I immediately open my mouth.

He pushes in without any preamble – desperate to get inside or desperate to escape the cold winter air swirling around us, I can’t tell. I have no time to prepare myself, and start to gag as he rams himself to the back of my throat. After a second or two, he backs off slightly, allowing me to swallow and get some sort of grasp on my reflexes before pushing forward again and holding himself deep. I tighten my fingers on his thighs, doing my best to accommodate the not insignificant width of his cock.

The hairs of his groin brush against my nose and, as I desperately suck the frigid air, I catch the lingering scent of soap and musk.

He pulls back until just the head of him remains safe and warm inside my now wet lips. Pauses momentarily. Studies me intently.

And then he is moving again, his cock fucking my mouth in a steady, even rhythm, one hand on my scalp guiding my movements, the other at the back of my neck pulling me closer to him. As he moves in and out, wet sounds squelch from my mouth and saliva trickles down my chin. My eyes begin to water as the intensity of his thrusts increases and twice I nearly lose my balance, but, somehow, I manage to hold myself in place.

I have no idea how long he uses my mouth but, finally, I begin to feel him swell against my tongue and I know he his close to coming. But instead of ejaculating deep in my throat as I expect him to, he pulls out, grips my shoulders and pulls me roughly forwards. I put out my hands to stop myself face-planting and my glove-covered palms hit the ground. Almost immediately, I feel his hands on my hips, turning me around.

My knees scrap across the dirt.

A gust of wind rushes over us and a flurry of ice crystals rise up and sting the skin of my face. There is a rustle and a thud and I sense he has dropped to his knees behind me.

I don’t even think about moving as pushes my denim skirt up around my hips, or when he yanks my tights and knickers down around my thighs with a single vicious pull.

I don’t think about crawling away from him on my hands and knees as I feel a hand rest at the small of my back and the engorged head of his penis plug the entrance of my embarrassingly wet pussy.

The fingers digging into my right hip cause me to buck slightly against him and a sharp slap stings the exposed, rapidly cooling skin of my buttocks.

I freeze.

He remains motionless for a moment, and then grunts – the only sound he has made so far – as he slowly pushes forward into my warm cunt. There is a momentary respite from the increasingly biting wind as his hips come to rest against mine, but it doesn’t last. He begins to stroke lazily in and out, and each time he pulls back, the Arctic chill rushes in, punishing my bottom and the swollen, spread lips of my vulva.

I have almost become accustomed to the vicious air when he leans forward, drops his weight onto my back, and reaches underneath me. I drop my head to watch as his gloved hands fumble with the zipper of my winter coat. He pulls it towards him, and then his hands are at the hem of my jumper, pushing it and the shirt beneath upwards, over my breasts. As he runs his hands downwards again, his fingertips catch the top edges of my bra and yank the cups so that they come to rest beneath the lower curves of my breasts.

I clench involuntarily around the cock buried deep inside me as the icy cold hits my exposed nipples. They tighten, becoming hard as diamonds and I desperately want to cover them with my hands but, even as the thought registers, I am being pulled upright as he lifts his weight from my back. Gripping my arms, he forces me to straighten and rest my weight on my dirty walking boots before capturing both wrists in one hand at the small of my back. As I kneel between his thighs, impaled on his cock, he reaches around and gently squeezes the tip of one frozen nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out, even though I know there is no one to hear me.

He begins to move his hips, pushing upwards with his cock in short, sharp jabs. As the pace picks up, he starts twisting my nipple more sharply – and this time I cannot help but lift my face and groan at the darkening sky.

The bare branches of the trees dance like black skeletons over my head and, as I watch them, I see a single, fat snowflake flutter downwards like a white angel. It swirls away into the gathering night but, almost immediately, there is another to take its place. And another. And another.

They land all around us. On the dirt. The grass. The bare flesh of my breasts.

I am being pushed forwards again, back onto my hands and knees, and now the snow falls softly against the skin of my bottom. Almost as soon as it makes contact, it melts, sending little threads of liquid dribbling downwards. As I try to acclimatise to the sensation, a bare, wet thumb skates over the tight pucker of my anus and I hold my breath, the freezing stings of the flakes momentarily forgotten. It pushes gently yet ruthlessly inwards, overcoming the tight resistance it encounters with shocking ease.

I force myself to relax.

It slides in further.

Before I know it, the gloveless digit is stabbing in and out of me and I am pushing back on its meagre width with shameless abandon. From out of nowhere, the beginning of an orgasm starts to whisper through me and I strain towards it, desperate to send myself over the edge. But before I can climax, the hips behind me give three hard, measured thrusts and the cock inside my pussy swells to monstrous proportions. At the end of the third, deep stab I feel a rush of warmth, and then it slides backwards, pulling fully out, leaving me gaping and open to the cold.

A trickle of the seed that has just been deposited inside me runs from my desperate, empty, well just as I feel the thumb retreat from my anus and hot splashes of come fall like acid rain on its spasming mouth. Moments later, however, the thumb returns to massage and push the rapidly cooling ejaculate into the still-hungry pucker.

I groan and pant, the elusive orgasm hovering like a dark abyss before me, but before it can detonate, he stops touching me completely and I hear him getting to his feet.

I cannot bring myself to look at him.

I remain on my hands and knees, half undressed, sperm trickling down my thighs; a shivering vessel of need.

My ears pick up the sound of him fastening his pants, and then his footsteps crunching across the ground. All too soon, they fade into the distance.

The seconds tick by but I cannot seem to make myself move. Eventually, though, the pain of my freezing nipples and the exposed skin of my buttocks spur me into action. I stand, and as I do, feel more dribbles leak from my cunt.

I re-adjust my shirt, jumper and coat before trying to sort out my lower half. As I pull my knickers up, I feel them cling to the damp patches on my inner thighs and groin and know that I will be walking home in a sea of stickiness. My tights are no better; they’re caked in wet dirt and the left knee now sports a ragged hole. My hat is nowhere to be seen.

I look around. The night is now in full bloom around me and it’s no longer snowing; a silvery moon and a mass of brilliant stars hang in the inky sky, illuminating the light blanket of white on the grass and bushes.

On shaky legs, I start off once again down the track, following the single set of footprints imprinted upon it. A mile later, I reach the country lane the leads to my house and follow its hard surface until I reach the porch light that marks my front door. Key in hand, I insert it into the lock and let myself in.

A wall of warmth hits me and I briefly close my eyes, savouring the welcome heat. After removing my boots and hanging up my coat on one of the hooks by the stairs, I make my way into the kitchen. My husband is sitting at the table, a book in his hand, a cup of steaming tea at his side. He looks up as I enter the room and takes in my dishevelled appearance: the wild hair, the dirt, the tear at my knee.

‘How was your walk?’ he says.

I hesitate. ‘It was … interesting.’

‘Interesting?’ He quirks an eyebrow.

I nod, not sure what else to say.

He puts his book down and pushes his chair back so that his legs are free from the table. ‘Come here.’

I walk over to him and as soon as I’m close enough, he grabs me and pulls me down, face-first, over his lap. His hands go straight to the hem of my skirt. He lifts it up and pulls the waistband of my tights and knickers beneath the curve of my bottom before plunging his fingers into my sopping cunt.

‘That feels more than interesting to me.’

I groan and squirm, unable to formulate any coherent words.

He spreads the slickness over my engorged clit and I bury my face against his calf, noting the still-drying mud on the knees of his trousers. His hand drifts backwards and I feel a finger circle my anus.

‘Please,’ I wail.

He chuckles and plunges it in to the knuckle.

‘You just want your orgasm, greedy girl.’

I tighten around his unmoving finger, desperate for friction.

He pulls it out slightly, pushes it back in with more force, and leans forward so his lips are close to my left ear.

‘Sorry I ruined your tights, babe.’

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